


Arrow

by catsaremyboyfriend



Series: Asexual Snuggle Buddies [15]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Multi, Other, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsaremyboyfriend/pseuds/catsaremyboyfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one has chapters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mx_Carter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Carter/gifts).



He’s laughing and fighting, something faceless, blurry but he’s fine. Doing good. He lets an arrow loose and grins, the sound as it hits soft and squishy. A stomach hit. Those hurt worst, bleeding out with your guts in your hands, slow.

He looks up and it’s _Kate_ , it’s Kate on her knees with a hand to her belly. “Kate?” His fault _his fault_ , she tries to speak as blood drips from her mouth in soft bubbles of words. “Kate Kate Kate?” 

“Clint!” 

“Kate? Kate?” He can’t breathe.

“Clint!” She’s tapping him across the face, voice muffled. Just a nightmare. His worst nightmare, an accident. He’d rather die than lose Kate.  
____________________________________________

If Kate giggles one more time, Clint is going to shoot her, soulmates be damned. “You are too _cute_ ,” she squeals, scooping him into her arms.

He squirms uselessly before settling down with a huff. “ _Kate_.” Even his voice has changed, all high-pitched and lispy.

He _hates_ Loki. Who comes up with a spell that reverts adults back to childhood? An asshole demigod, apparently. Clint is four again, clenching his chubby fists. Nat is hands down the most beautiful child he’s ever seen, seven years old and still deadly. Cap’s a baby, gurgling in Bucky’s over-protective arms. Tony’s the best, because he’s the smallest five year old _ever_ and really pissed about it.

The rest of the team dodged the blast, and now Clint’s being _carried_ everywhere because his fat little legs make it hard to walk. Kate hasn’t stopped laughing since she saw him, the jerk. Thor promises it’ll wear off in a few hours, or Clint would be even more pissed.

Kate holds him in the crook of one arm, his face tucked into her shoulder. This part isn’t so bad, Clint didn’t get held enough as a kid. He winds his arm around her neck and watches pint-size Nat argue with Fury about immediately returning to duty even though she’s about four feet tall.

God, Nat is crazy. He loves her so much. “I killed my first man at seven,” she hisses, and Bucky gets that look on his face, the one that means he’s feeling guilty about not saving Nat in the Red Room.

Lucky for all of them, Tony pipes up with a demand for his suit that’s answered with a ten minute lecture from Fury. Tony keeps touching the spot where his beard used to be, which is _hilarious_. They all laugh at him, so everything is how it should be.

Clint’s real body comes back at 10 p.m. He immediately throws Kate over his shoulder and carries her around their apartment. She laughs and slaps at his arms.  
_______________________________  
Sif and the Warriors Three are all soulmates together, which Clint imagines makes for very interesting Mark Days. It’s not uncommon though, so when he finds Sif curled up on Hogun’s lap with Fandral at her feet and Volstagg chatting merrily about pork as he braids his hair, Clint just nods hello and closes the door as he leaves.  
________________________________________  
“We should go on vacation,” Kate says when she’s bandaging the wound on his thigh, inches away from his femoral.

“I hear Wolverine owns an island,” he offers. 

She ties a neat knot and says, “D’you really wanna go somewhere _Wolverine_ thinks is fun?” 

He thinks, shudders, and shakes his head. “Alright. Maybe we’ll try Bermuda instead.”


	2. Phantom

“Kate Kate _Katie_ ,” he sing songs, butting his head against her arm. 

She huffs irritably and shrugs him off. “Clint. Ten page paper. Due tomorrow. I love you, but I _will_ gut you.”

“All the romance has gone out of our relationship,” he grumbles, stung. 

She rubs a palm along his head. “I’m sorry. I’m just _stressed_.” He nods in understanding and leaves.

When he comes back with Burger King and kisses her forehead she smiles _so wide_. “You lied. The romance is still alive.” She counts off on her fingers. “Spontaneity. Check. Still go on dates. Sort of. Still attractive…” She looks him up and down, then shrugs. “Eh.” 

He scratches at his two day growth of beard and grins. “Your shirt’s inside out, Kate.” She blows him a raspberry and takes it off. 

He eyes the new scar on her belly, stepping closer to run a thumb along it. She giggles and shies away, slapping at his fingers. “Clint!” A nasty scratch from Daken. His lust pheromones don’t work on Kate, which frustrates him. Clint put three arrows through his chest and felt better.  
Daken and his ilk can’t die, but three arrows hurts like a bitch to anyone. Kate softens when she sees the look in his eye. “Hey. It’s healed,” she reminds him, grasping the tips of his fingers. Nodding, he tickles her again.  
_________________________  
He wakes up to Kate stroking his face, fingernails tracing the curve of his cheek. He makes a sleepy noise, moving into her touch. She’s saying something he can’t hear, then she taps his nose. He slits an eye open so she can sign at him.

_It’s okay. Go back to sleep._ He nudges her hip with his chin, her hand never leaving his head, and closes his eyes.  
___________________________  
They watch Phantom of the Opera with Bucky, who falls asleep ten minutes in, his metal arm draped over Kate’s shoulder. “This is stupid,” Kate decides towards the end of the movie.

Clint’s painting her toenails, alternating purple and white. It’s important to have repetition. “What’s stupid?” 

“Come on, it’s Gerard Butler, he just has a weird skin rash. Who’s gonna say no to that?” 

Clint lifts his head, studies Gerard Butler’s absurdly attractive face, and shrugs. “People like us?” 

“Christine’s not asexual, Clint.”

She flexes her toes, making him mess up, so he swats at her ankle. “Oy. Stay still.” Bucky shifts in his sleep, making a fist. They both freeze. A Bucky woken suddenly is a Bucky who has panic attacks. He just grunts, though, blows a strand of hair off his face. “Stay still,” Clint says again, and returns to his work.   
_________________________________________  
“Clint, honestly, that’s ridiculous.” 

“Well, my parents didn’t exactly discuss genealogy between all the beatings.” Kate pouts at him. 

“You don’t know your own heritage.”

“Like you do,” he retorts, but it’s weak and he knows it.

“I was adopted from Cambodia when I was one, so I think we can assume…” She calls to Bucky, who’s doing something worrying with the knives in the kitchen. “Bucky! You’re something Middle Eastern, right?” 

“Egyptian, so not really,” he replies. 

Kate rolls her eyes before turning back to Clint. “You’re probably just Irish anyway. Most white people are.” 

“It doesn’t matter, Katie-Kate.” He gets up to join Bucky in the kitchen. Winter Soldier + knives=probably something bad.  
______________________________________  
The team says you and I are codependent.” Kate comes through the door in a huff.

Clint glances up from the case notes Daredevil sent him. It’s not often Clint gets to work with a vigilante. He kind of likes it. “Well, we are, Kate.”

All the anger goes out of her as she laughs. “Yeah, you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who watched phantom of the opera and lovvvvved it. take a wild guess


	3. Spike

The first time Clint and Kate meet Bucky, he’s trying to kill them. “Become a superhero, Kate. It’ll be fun, Kate,” Kate mutters, shooting a putty arrow before ducking behind a door. Figures the Winter Soldier would flip out in Stark Tower while Clint and Kate are the only ones here. 

“I thought his programming was broken,” Kate hisses, and Clint backflips over a couch, yells, “Cap says they’re still working on it!” 

He’s getting tired, endurance nothing against a super soldier. If Kate gets hurt he’ll take Bucky apart, Cap’s soulmate or no. Kate is precious. He wipes sweat from his eyes, calling, “Bucky! We’re Cap’s friends!” That gets nothing, so he tries, “Steve’s friends?”

Bucky freezes, mouth moving silently before he rasps out, “Stevie?”

“Yeah, and he would be totally upset if you assassined us,” Kate yells from her position behind the minibar. Trust Stark to have a minibar on every floor of his ‘I’m compensating for something’ building. 

“I wasn’t gonna kill you,” Bucky says, all offended like this is something that happens often. It might be, actually. “I was just gonna shoot out your kneecaps.” 

“Wow, okay,” Kate scoffs, and Bucky winces. 

“I’m…sorry?” he tries, and Clint is painfully reminded that he spent years as a killing machine, even longer than Nat. 

He can tell Kate is thinking the same, because she sighs and puts her bow away. “Okay. Just a misunderstanding, then. I’m Hawkeye, and he’s Hawkeye.”

Bucky frowns but doesn’t ask, which is nice. “I thought you were Hydra, maybe.” 

“It’s really okay,” Clint assures him, because Kate is fine and he remembers when Nat used to flip out, wild like a trapped animal, before she’d sit, shivering, for hours. He knows what brainwashing does to a person. 

“I’m James Buchanan Barnes,” Bucky says carefully, like his name is something he’s had to memorize. “Steve calls me Bucky.” His face hardens. “I am the Winter Soldier.” 

“Ugh, codenames that aren’t Hawkeye are lame,” Kate says easily, extending her hand to shake. “I’m Kate Bishop, if we’re gonna use our real names. This is Clint Barton.” 

Bucky nods, gently shakes her hand, then Clint’s. His grip is deliberately too loose, like he doesn’t know his own strength. Maybe he doesn’t. “Can we call you Bucky?” 

There’s a long pause as Bucky considers this, quiet enough that Clint can hear the gears whirring in his metal arm. “It’s okay to say no,” Kate rushes to fill in, because Kate is good with people. 

“I’m thinking,” Bucky interrupts, then he smiles, quick and slightly devastating, a flash of the man he once was. “You can call me Bucky.” 

“Awesome.” Kate relaxes, goes to get their arrows.

“I heard you have near perfect aim,” Clint says, challenging.

There’s a glint in Bucky’s eye now, no more of that lost soldier boy. “That’s what they say,” he responds, smirking.

“I bet we could beat your high score,” Kate teases from where she’s tugging an arrow out of a couch cushion. Kate seems to associate archery stuff with video game terms, he’s not sure why. 

“I’m up to it.”

“Then to Stark’s range we go.” 

Clint gestures for Bucky to walk beside him. Kate will catch up. “Are you soulmates?” Bucky asks, nodding back at Kate, who waves.

“Yeah. She’s great,” Clint sighs like the lovesick teenager he secretly is. 

“She reminds me of someone,” Bucky muses, then shrugs. “I forget.” 

“You’ll remember eventually.” 

Bucky laughs shortly, going quiet as they pass a roomful of agents who all stare, stone faced, as they walk past. “No, I won’t,” he mutters, looking haunted. 

“Uh, hey, don’t worry about the agents. They’ll get over it,” Clint tells him, wishing he was better at people. 

“I killed some of their friends, probably. I don’t remember.”

“So did I. So did Nat. Bruce Banner, too.” Bucky ducks his head, lips tightening, and Clint realizes that Bucky is close in age to Kate, still a kid, really. “If you want judgement, you’re not gonna find it from me,” he finishes, mildly proud of himself. That was a speech worthy of Cap.

Bucky flashes him a small grin as Kate catches up to them, panting. “Thanks.” 

“Any time.”

Now  
Bucky sits at the edge of their tub, patiently sewing up the long tear in Clint’s shoulder. His hands are steady, which is a blessing. 

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let S.H.I.E.L.D take care of that for you,” Kate calls from the other room, where she’s icing her ribs.

“It’s nothing,” he yells back, watching his blood swirl down the drain. Bucky huffs a laugh, and Clint frowns at him. Bucky heals from most injuries within a few hours, sometimes minutes. It’s totally not cool of him to mock Clint’s pain. Bucky just smirks. 

Cap’s coming over after the debriefing, and they’re gonna have a barbecue on the roof. Nat and Darcy will drop by later, Sam Wilson promised to bring chips. 

Clint sometimes worries about what his life has become, the happiness of it, when Barney’s voice in his head chants that it will never last. Clint never listened to the real Barney, though, so he shakes the thoughts away. 

Bucky slaps lightly at his arm. “Stay still.”

“Your soulmate know you give baths to other men?” Clint teases, motioning at the damp cloth Bucky’s holding. 

“You wouldn’t even appreciate a good sponge bath, pal.” Clint nods in agreement, lids drooping. His shoulder aches but he’s had worse, it feels more in the background and the room is just warm enough. Bucky flicks him in the forehead with a metal finger. “You concussed?” 

Clint doesn’t remember getting hit in the head, or at least no harder than usual, so he shakes his head. Bucky turns Clint’s face towards him, fingers gentle. Oddly, or maybe not so oddly, Bucky’s the most careful metahuman Clint’s met besides Rogue, treating everyone but Cap like glass. “Lemme see your pupils.” 

Clint rolls his eyes before widening them, staring at Bucky. “Whatever you say, Doctor Professor Barnes.” Bucky raises an eyebrow, and isn’t it tragic that one of America’s heroes has never watched Spongebob? 

Bucky examines him for a moment before shrugging. “You’ll be fine. Put your shirt on.” 

Clint mock salutes him, steps from the tub with only a hint of agony. “No kiss? I’m kind of disappointed.” 

“Stop quoting Batman shit at me,” Bucky growls, but Clint knows he’s just mad that everyone compares him to Jason Todd. 

“Why so serious, Bucky?” Kate shouts, subsiding in a wheeze of laughter. Maybe her ribs are more damaged than he thought. 

“You alright, Katie-Kate?” He peeks his head into their room, where Kate is sprawled on their bed. 

She gives him a thumbs up and a goofy grin. “Peachy keen.” 

“You’re a cheeseball.” Her breathing is alright, so he won’t push the issue. Kate knows her body. He lays himself next to her, taking the handful of painkillers and water bottle she hands him. Kate’s always so helpful. 

“Nat will probably be here in a few.” He squints at the ceiling. “Or she’s already here. Lurking.”

Kate’s, “I thought that was Bucky’s job?” earns an annoyed grunt from the bathroom. 

“I don’t _lurk_.” Bucky walks in to join them, sits at the edge of their bed. 

“Cap’ll be here soon.” 

His face softens. “Yeah.” 

Kate kicks him lightly with her foot, smiling. “You big softie.”

They all sit up when there are voices in the living room, Darcy’s exuberant, “Guys! We’re here!” and Sam’s warm chuckle. “I’m pretty sure the three super spies know we’re here.”

“I’m actually not a spy,” Kate corrects, throwing the ice pack away and getting up to greet them. “And Bucky mostly just killed people.” She winces, throwing him an apologetic look. “Sorry. Slipped out.” 

He waves her away and stands. “I’m going up to start the grill.” 

“Cool. We’ll join you in a few.” He leaves and Clint watches the ceiling some more, feeling his smile grow. Screw what Barney in his head says. Happiness like this has to last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i call this chapter the 'the author is all gooey over bucky barnes just allow her to let it all out she has so many feelings why can't he be happy' chapter


	4. Todd

Kate walks in, sighs, walks back out, closes the door. He waits patiently. When she comes back in and sits across from him, her eye is twitching. 

“Clint. There is a baby at our table. Clint, we _discussed_ this. We don’t want kids, right?” Her voice is steadily rising, a sure sign of hysteria to come. It’s a rich socialite thing she can’t seem to control. 

On cue, the baby bursts into flames. “Kate, this is Jude,” he says calmly, spraying the fire extinguisher for the sixth time. “Johnny Storm’s illegitimate son.” 

The boy yawns, his flames gone and his eyes shut. His soulmark, in big block letters across his throat, reads: _I’ll be calling my lawyer._ It screams Johnny’s kid, the guy can’t go ten steps without getting sued. “Oh my God,” Kate whispers, excited now. “This is gonna be _huge_.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

“Why do you have him?” 

“Oh, he’s not here for me,” Clint says easily, because Kate takes bad news best when it’s delivered calmly. “He’s your sister’s kid. She figured he’ll be safe with you while she tells Johnny.”

Kate goes still for several seconds, then settles herself. They’re Hawkeyes, they’ve handled worse. “How old is he?” she asks, poking gently at Jude’s scrunched up face. 

“Only a few days. Your sister left some formula.” 

“That shallow bitch,” Kate hisses under her breath, letting Jude grab her finger. “Hi, baby. I’m your Aunt Kate.” 

“She’s giving him up for adoption if Johnny won’t take him.” It had been a long, uncomfortable conversation with Kate’s sister, who he’d never met before. She had shoved Jude at him, babbled out her story, and left. 

Kate looks older suddenly, shoulders hunched. “I…We take him in, if Johnny won’t.” 

“Of course, Katie.” 

She runs a finger along the scorched baby carriage, looking haunted. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Me, too.”

Johnny shows up in a few hours and takes Jude away, already besotted, thank God. It’s probably only a matter of time before he’s teaching Jude to fly. Kate relaxes by degrees as Johnny leaves with a grateful wave and a promise to visit. Jude is Kate’s nephew, after all. 

She pulls Clint down onto the couch with her when they’re gone, digs her fingers into the small of his back. She needs something to hold on to, and they’ve always been solid. “We were almost _parents_ ,” she whispers, taking a careful breath. 

“We’re not, though,” he reminds her. “Johnny has him.”

“My sister…her soulmate died when she was thirteen. I don’t think she ever got over it.”

“It’s okay that you don’t hate her for abandoning her kid,” he tells her, getting what she’s trying to say.

She slumps against his chest, sniffing a little. “Yeah.” 

“And Johnny will take good care of him. He’s not as much of an asshole as he pretends, I think.” 

“At least we’re never bored.”

“At least there’s that,” he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the closest to kid fic we're ever going to get, pals. I love kids, i work with kids, i do not write kids well.


	5. Scully

There are three girls in Clint’s apartment. He squints. America Chavez he knows, sprawled across his couch eating Doritos, spilling crumbs everywhere because she’s a terrible house guest.

He doesn’t know the girl on the floor, Pakistani in a bright costume who turns to him and waves, or the slim girl in the white hood. She’s got spider markings, but there’s like eight people with Spider-Man variants right now so that doesn’t really narrow it down.

“Hi…” He says finally, looking around for Kate. 

“This is Gwen and Ms. Marvel,” America says, tossing a chip up in the air to catch with her mouth. “They’re my soulmates.” 

“Hey, congrats.” He smiles, shakes the hand Ms. Marvel extends and waves to Gwen. “So you guys must be the Threatening Three?” he guesses, laughing when America winces. The Threatening Three is the group of three girls who’ve been cracking down on crime lately. 

“That would be us. Stupid name, though,” Ms. Marvel complains. 

“I think it suits you.”

“Yeah, but all you Hawkeyes are dorks,” America announces, ducking when Kate walks in and flicks a rubber band at her. 

“Rude.” She hugs Clint hello, plopping a crown of purple flowers atop his head. “Gwen made flower crowns.” He looks to Gwen, who nods, fixing her crown of red carnations as it slides off her hood. 

“This is so not badass,” he grumbles, adjusting his own. 

“Bucky has one. He won’t take it off, it’s driving Cap crazy,” Kate snickers, pushing at America’s legs til she pulls them back so Kate can sit. “They’re coming over in a bit.”

“Billy and Teddy, too,” Ms. Marvel says, face morphing briefly, and unsettlingly, into Teddy’s. Lucky lays himself across her lap, paws waving, mouth open in a doggy grin. 

“We’re not just watching your shitty action movies,” America warns.

Both Clint and Kate groan, “But those are the only _good_ kind.” 

Two Weeks Later

“I’m stronger than all of you. Let’s be real, Barnes, I’ll kick your ass,” America says, slapping Bucky’s hand away from the cookies Gwen made. “You’ve had enough. Don’t give me that kicked puppy look, either.” They’re all at Clint’s place, again, because apparently “It’s not a real movie if Lucky isn’t there, Old Hawkeye, jeez.” 

Clint’s watching from the back of the room, banished there because he always spills something. He can see the girls’ heads, all three of them snuggled together, America and Ms. Marvel’s dark heads pressed to the gleaming white of Gwen’s hood. 

Bucky’s wrapped up in blankets with Cap, since they get cold easily. Cap’s hair shines gold in the dim light. Kate’s at the back with him, in the armchair that Johnny Storm dropped off as a gift a few months ago. It fast became Kate’s favorite chair.

She sits sideways, perched on the arm of the chair, leg jiggling. He puts a hand on her knee to calm her, flashes her a smile before turning back to the screen. It’s the Notebook, which he doesn’t really…get. He’s not romantic and neither is Kate. 

Cap is sniffling, though, which Clint can understand; one partner forgetting the other must be painfully familiar. “Stevie, do you want me to kiss you in the rain or something?” Bucky teases, and Cap laughs.

“Don’t tempt me.”  
*  
*  
Clint’s at one of the innumerable Avengers press junkets, seated next to Nat like always. She’s gone totally, unsettlingly still, a sure sign that she’s bored. They’re tossing softball questions aimed mostly at Cap and Tony. Clint taps his foot against Nat’s ankle til she shoots him a _look_.

He glances up when Cap stands, pressing his hands palm down on the table. Bucky’s standing as well, looming behind Cap with arms crossed. 

“Would you repeat that question?” Cap asks, frowning. The reporter who speaks up is some asshole from Fox News. They’re always from Fox news.

“I said, how do you feel about the sentiment that the young women known as the Threatening Three are a menace to New York City?” 

Carol stands, obviously about to defend them, but Cap stops her with a hand. “I would trust America Chavez with my life, and I extend the same trust to her associates. Next question.” The reporter flushes and sits down.  
*  
*  
Clint walks into an Avengers meeting one afternoon and Tony’s wearing an Iron Man suit that’s neon orange with lime green fire decals. Clint looks to Jan, who’s similarly confused. 

“New suit?” Sam asks, winking at both of them, a big smile on his handsome face. 

“I made a comment that Barnes didn’t appreciate,” Tony informs them, grinning. “He retaliated with paint. I think I’ll keep it.” If Tony knows how to do anything, it’s have fun. 

“Looking good, old man,” Bucky drawls as he steps into the room, mask on and arm gleaming. He does a complicated handshake with Sam and nods hello to Clint as Jan settles on his shoulder. 

“If anyone’s old here it’s you and your boyfriend.” 

“We’re young at heart, Stark.” He taps a metal finger against Tony’s armor, clinking, and smirks. “Next time I’ll paint it red, white, and blue for Stevie.” Tony puts a hand to his chest, gagging. “Don’t have a heart attack,” Bucky warns, sauntering over to Nat, tilting his head so Jan can chatter in his ear.  
*  
When Clint gets home from his meeting Billy is sitting on his kitchen counter violently frenching Teddy. He clears his throat as Billy wraps his legs around Teddy’s waist. They jump and separate, Teddy flushing green. 

“Hi,” Clint starts, fiddling with his aides. They’ve been temperamental lately. 

“Sorry,” Teddy says, keeping his hands at Billy’s waist. Billy grins at him, nervous, looking so much like Wanda for a moment that Clint does a double take. But it’s a sensitive subject, so he doesn’t say anything. He’s good like that. 

“How’re you guys doing?” he asks instead, reaching past Billy to grab an apple. 

“Kate’s changing,” Billy blurts, and Clint wonders if Tommy is this nervous, too. He doesn’t think so, but he’s only met the kid a few times. 

“Cool. I hear you guys are engaged.” He remembers Kate coming home, ecstatic, telling him about it in more detail than he ever needed.

Billy brightens, nodding as Teddy steps aside so he can slip off the counter. “Yeah! Teddy proposed just a few months ago.” He presses his cheek into Teddy’s shoulder, beaming, and Teddy looks down at him like he hung the moon. Clint can see their soulmarks; Billy’s in delicate script across his collarbone, _Hey_ , and Teddy’s on his right wrist, _I’m Asgardian, or no, wait._

Wanda doesn’t have a soulmark, and thought she was broken til Vision. He wonders if Billy and Tommy know that. “Well, that’s swell,” he says, really meaning it. Billy and Teddy are good people, and they’ve had it hard. They deserve this.

He jumps when Kate comes from behind, pokes at his ribs.

_Hello_ , she signs when he turns. Her hair is wet, slicked back. She’s wearing the tiny arrow earrings he gave her for their Mark Day. God, he loves her. Perfect Kate.

_Hello_ , he signs back, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

“Billy and Teddy are staying for dinner. I ordered Chinese,” she says aloud, hugging him. She smells like lavender and leather, more familiar then his own smell. “I missed you.” 

“I’ve only been gone six hours.” 

“Missed you anyway,” she tells him, pulling back. “And I know you missed me, too.” 

“Can’t deny it.” Lucky pads up to them, nosing at Kate’s hip, wanting to be petted. 

“I got you fried dumplings,” she says as he opens his mouth, reading his mind like always. 

“You’re a blessing, Katie-Kate.”

“You know it, Clinty-Clint.” He makes a face while the boys snigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this work is for my bro sarah who basically inspired everything in here and helped get rid of my writers block. good luck with your gcse's i know you're gonna do great :)


	6. Treasures

“Kate.” 

She’s shivering, pink cheeked and pleased, hair blown into wisps over her scarf. It’s purple, because of course. There’s a fading bruise on her cheekbone, a cut healing on her bottom lip. Lucky sniffs at her boots, then turns, disinterested, and drops on her feet. 

“Hey,” she says, hugging Clint, a little cold, her clothes damp. Gross, but it’s Kate, so he squeezes back. 

“Hey there. How was school?” 

She pulls back, shrugs, takes her hat off. “Eh.” He scratches at his three day growth of beard and watches her move around their apartment, Lucky dogging her footsteps, tail wagging. It still catches him by surprise, how happy she makes him, even just taking off her boots. 

“Katie-Kate.”

She glances over, smiling, fingers tangled in the folds of her scarf. “Yeah?” 

“I love you.” 

Her smile widens. “I love you, too.”  
++++++++++++++++++++  
“Clint. _Clint_.” He jolts awake to the sound of Kate’s voice, impatient and concerned. “What are you doing up here?” She comes over to stand next to him, elbows balanced on the edge of the roof, looking down at the city. A car alarm goes off a few blocks. “I thought you were about to fall over.” 

“Nah, Katie.” He slings an arm over her shoulder, clumsy, feeling her stagger a little under the weight of him. Looking at her is soft, blurred around the edges. She smiles, uncertain, nudges at his hip. He eyes her profile, the upturned curve of her nose, wisps of hair at her temples. God, he loves her. “Kate…” he begins, thumbing at the spot where her soulmark is. 

“Natasha told me about the mission,” she interrupts. “When did you last sleep?” 

“I don’t want to.” He spent two weeks in a coma while Nat searched for him. He’s had enough sleep. 

“Yes, you do,” Kate counters, steadying him when he yawns, her hands pressed flat against his chest and back. “You got enchanted. It’s not your fault.” He grunts, takes his aides out. Kate steps in front of him and signs instead. _Look at me. It’s not your fault._

She’s tapping at his hands, waiting til he opens them to grasp her fingers. “Alright, Katie,” he says, probably a little too loud. She smiles, pulling him towards the door that leads downstairs.


	7. Finch

Electro and his soulmate are purely platonic; it’s his mom, who has his first word tucked behind her ear. So he’s free to fall in love with whoever he wants.

Mostly he just loves power, but sometimes, at very personal nighttime moments, he thinks of Thor. God of Thunder, lightning crackling at his fingertips. Running those fingertips over Electro’s body, the charge harmless to both of them, someone who can take Electro at full strength and laugh about it.

He dreams of being crowned Co-King of Asgard, resplendent in sparks at Thor’s side, firmly ruling the Asgardians with an electrocution here and there, when necessary. He’ll have more power than even he knows what to do with, and Thor fully under his thumb. 

The thought of so much power, an endless source of energy, sends a delightful shiver through him, and maybe he goes a little easy on Thor when they fight. Of course, Thor’s soulmate is Storm, and by all accounts he’s completely devoted to her. Still, Electro can dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see! i'll try to add a few more chapters soon :)


	8. Beast

Without Kate, Clint is nothing, he’s lost. He knows that he lived without her, for decades. But now it’s not just Clint, it’s Clint&Kate and he wouldn’t know what do to with anything else.

He looks over to her, perfect Kate, where’s she’s sitting in the windowsill doing Sudoku. He’d die for her, if she asked, and go to wherever it is people go to praising her name. “Katie, you gotta stay.” 

She rolls her eyes so hard he can see it from here, letting one long leg dangle off the sill. She’s wearing shorts, soft cloth things that ride high on her thigh. The weather is hot and getting hotter, sweat gathering at the small of Clint’s back.

“I’m only going for a few days. It’s just a lady’s weekend with America.” Her glance at his face is wistful though, a little longing. It’s always like that with Kate, his affection always returned. “And last time I checked, you’re not a lady. Except in that one dimension.” 

He grumbles something about how they’re never apart for very long, but he can’t be one of those people, the kind who keeps their soulmate from being around anyone else. “I’ll miss you,” he says finally, standing and kissing her sweaty forehead. They really should get the AC fixed, he thinks. Maybe when he has more than $20 in his bank account; he knows Kate has more, a _lot_ more, but he won’t ask for charity even from her. 

“And I’ll miss you,” she answers, completing a line of numbers and making a soft noise of triumph. He just smiles down at the crown of her head.  
+++  
Clint wakes up one morning and there are new words on his left arm, in small looped cursive. _Tell me who I am to you_. The immediate grip of panic to his throat makes him choke, rolling over to look at Kate, asleep on her belly, wearing a bunched up tank top. His words are still there on her shoulder, and she’s substantial when he touches her, warm skin under his fingertips, murmuring nonsense before she rolls over. 

He gets out of bed, puts his aides in, not sure if he’s going to throw up or something else, but as soon as he enters the living room there’s a knife to his throat, a slim body behind him that he throws over his shoulder. She rolls easily to her feet, knife still in hand. “Tell me who I am to you,” she growls, and he freezes.

“I’m just Clint Barton,” he says slowly, examining her face. It’s Nat, but it’s not the right Nat; softer, prettier. Her uniform dips lower in the front, loose curls around her face. His Nat has straight hair to her shoulders, a face so icy that it’s easy to forget how beautiful she is. And she’s a smidge taller. Other Nat lets her arm fall, stepping in close.  
That cinches it; only Nat would know how uncomfortable it makes him to fight someone close, used to being at a distance. She’s using what she knows against him and that’s also Nat. 

“Where am I?” 

“Different universe?” he tries, keeping his hands loose at his sides, unthreatening. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a good guy.” He doesn’t bother asking whether she is. He’s met six different Nats, none of whom considered themselves good people. 

She shows him the back of her hand, where he sees _I’m just Clint Barton_ in his sloppy print. “What is this?” 

“You don’t have soulmates where you come from?” He can’t imagine how confusing that is, everybody having to choose their own person, rather than just a few. Can’t imagine a world where he isn’t absolutely sure he needs Kate. 

“No.” 

“You’re my soulmate here. One of them.” 

She raises a familiar eyebrow, slipping her knife back into its sheath. “I’m not in love with you where I come from.” 

“I’m not in love with you here. And I’m asexual.” Interested in spite of himself, he asks, “Who _are_ you in love with?” 

“Sam Wilson.” Clint can’t imagine Sam without Gamora, or Nat without Darcy. Different universes are weird. 

This Nat glances behind him, to where Kate is coming out of their room, yawning. 

“Clint?” 

“Who’s that?” Nat asks, and he knows her well enough even like this to hear how confused she is. That must mean Kate isn’t around in her universe, and he fervently prays he never ends up there. 

“This is Kate. My soulmate.” His soulmate the way this Nat can never be, Marks or not. Kate loops her arms round his waist from behind, warm and sleep-soft, her nose digging into his spine as she leans her entire weight on him. “This is Nat from another universe,” he tells her, feeling her nod. “I’m her soulmate here.”

“No. You’re mine,” Kate murmurs, low and vicious like he rarely hears her, her arms squeezing. “No one else gets to have you,” she snarls over his shoulder, aimed at Nat, who shrugs. 

“I don’t want him,” she says, calm. “I just want to go back home.” 

“I’ll call Doctor Strange.” Kate heads towards the kitchen, clearly eager to get rid of this other Nat, encroaching on her territory. He’s touched. Nat follows her with her eyes, an amused tilt to her mouth. 

“Who am I where you come from?” he asks to distract her, before she say something acidic like his Nat would. Though, this one seems gentler. He wonders why. Her gaze returns to him; her eyes are just a shade less green than his Nat, shot with blue, and he doesn’t feel like he’s being eviscerated just holding her eyes. 

“You’re married to a woman named Laura. Two kids and one on the way.” Her face softens. “They’re naming it after me.” 

He’s glad to hear that he’s still close with Nat in this other universe, one where he doesn’t have Kate. “Sounds nice.”

“It is.”

Kate returns, telling them that Doctor Strange is coming at the exact moment that Strange appears in a flash of light and smoke, a low rumble of voices. He’s so _dramatic_. “I am here to assist you!” he announces, cloak swirling around his ankles, a little less effective than usual because he’s wearing pajamas.

Nat is looking him up and down, biting her lip to hold back a smile. “Glad to see you’re the same in every universe, Strange. Although mine is white.” That must be weird enough to Strange that he chooses to ignore it, waving a hand towards a green portal that’s suddenly there, flickering blue around the edges.

“Step through and return home, Widow.” Nat gives them a backward glance, nodding a goodbye. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Clint says politely, too unsettled by a soulmate that’s not Kate to give her a real farewell. Nat steps through without answering, disappearing in a flash of light that’s an indescribable color. Strange pops out with her, leaving him and Kate in their silent apartment, Lucky loping in with his tail wagging.

Kate hugs him, more possessive than she usually gets, fingers gripping the back of his t-shirt. “I don’t want to share you,” she says fervently. “Not ever.” Already the soulmark that the other Nat caused has disappeared from his arm, like it was never there. 

Clint sighs with relief, murmuring, “You’ll never have to,” into her hair. They spend the rest of the night sitting up together on the couch, Kate curling around him like she has to defend him, Clint trying to fit his bulk comfortably against her without crushing anything. 

By five in the morning Kate has fallen asleep and he can finally maneuver so he’s on his back and she’s on his chest, drooling into his shirt, hands gripping the fabric there. He moves her hair away from her face, tucking it behind one ear, and takes his aides out. He falls asleep to the feel of her breathing.  
++  
Morning comes and he’s on his side facing Kate, scrunched uncomfortably against the back of the couch, almost pushing her off. She blinks awake, smiles, then yelps when he does shove her off, falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Her mouth forms the word “Clint!” as she scowls up at him, half laughing. 

He grins, stretching out. “Sorry, Katie-Kate.” 

Kate hands him his aides, waiting til he puts them in to stick her tongue out, getting to her feet. “Butthead.” 

“You love me anyway.” 

The smile she throws over her shoulder as she heads to the kitchen is soft. “Yes. I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been awhile lol but here i am


	9. Finals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short one. so, the next chapter i add will be the last fic for this series. I haven't been inspired to write anything for them in a long time, and i think i've written all i wanted to write. this series has been one of my most popular and everyone's been great to me, so thanks! anyway, enjoy!

“This…is the best bed that I’ve ever been in,” Clint groans, sinking into layers of fluffy softness, arms outstretched. He doesn’t do undercover missions all that often, not now that his face is better known, but sometimes they just need someone who has perfect aim. Or, in this case, two people.

Kate falls next to him, her curls getting in his face as she makes a pleased noise. “Wow.” Kate’s playing a rich heiress, or, well, she’s being herself but snottier and with a different name. Clint is her live-in boytoy soulmate; mostly he’s been wearing t-shirts with the sleeves cut off. 

They would’ve tried to pass off as people with platonic soulmarks who weren’t Marked to each other, but no one who sees them interact would believe that. Clint’s fake Mark reads _Yes, miss_ and Kate’s reads _Get me a martini_. 

Clint rolls to the side, into Kate, scratching his nose on the itchy sequins sewn into her dress. They’ve been perfectly behaved for the past two hours, Clint hanging off Kate’s arm with a dumb look on his face as she chatted with men who run drug empires and fuck teenage girls for fun. He can’t wait to get an arrow through them. “Out of all the things I’ve passed out on, this will be the best one.” 

Kate’s shimmying out of her dress, to just the shift underneath, stretching luxuriously and grinning over at him. “Tomorrow, we kick ass.” 

“Tomorrow we kick ass,” he agrees.


	10. Spideypool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to toss in this cute lil plotbunny before the end. p sure i made it clear, but peter is very definitely in college and overage in this one :)

“If you…would just…” Peter struggles with Crusher, narrowly avoiding one massive fist that probably would’ve reduced his head to spider-pulp. He can already feel the bruises crawling up his face from Crusher’s earlier punches, a smear of blue black that’ll mean he has to wear scarves for a few days. Great. At least in college, people are less likely to ask questions.  
He sighs, ducking away from Crusher, blocking another punch with his forearm as his spider senses scream and he kicks Crusher’s leg away from his crotch. “Wow, low blow, big guy,” he says, flipping backwards into a wall, planting his feet, and pushing off, slamming Crusher right in the face. Finally, _finally_ , Crusher sways and falls straight down, the walls practically shaking with his collapse. 

The shitty alley they’ve been fighting in seems somehow brighter as Peter’s adrenaline starts to even out, his panting loud in the silence. A couple blocks away, a car honks. Peter turns away, scanning for the backpack he dropped before the fight started. It contains money, his street clothes, and, most importantly, his phone. He’ll need to web Crusher up and call the police before getting out of here, and to the 15 page exam paper that’s due…oh shit. _Tomorrow_. Peter groans, rifling through his bag. “Professor Rothstein is gonna _kill_ me,” he says just as his spider senses flare, Peter ducking only just in time to miss Crusher’s hands closing around his neck. 

“Not if I kill you first,” Crusher growls, and Peter’s trapped, already sweating, his throat closing up, when suddenly, there’s a red flash out of _nowhere_ and Crusher’s on the ground again, this time firmly out cold. 

Before Peter stands a man all in red, broad shouldered and taller than he is. Not that that’s hard. Peter eyes the guns at his waist, the blank white spots he has for eyes, the spandex. Besides the guns, it’s all weirdly familiar. He feels a pang of annoyance. Is this guy copying him?

They stand in silence for a second before Red Spandex Guy sends him a wave, waggling his fingers and cocking his hips. Peter’s spider senses feel…off, flaring up and receding all in seconds, like this guy is constantly changing his mind between being a danger or not. Peter makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat, webbing up Crusher’s hands as an afterthought.

After what feels like way too long, Red Spandex Guy steps away and starts jogging off, with a parting, “You’re welcome, sweet cheeks. Catch ya later!” His voice is gravelly, low, so raw it sounds like his vocal cords were damaged. Maybe a punch to the throat? 

Peter sends a half-hearted wave, used to weirder goodbyes, before he freezes. Red Spandex Guy just said Peter’s words. Red Spandex Guy is his soulmate. _And Peter didn’t say anything back._

+  
+  
+  
He wanders through classes the next day in a daze, barely registering anything his teachers say, even in his favorite, Chemistry. It’s only when MJ leans over during Grecian Architecture to level a Look in his general direction that Peter manages to snap out of it.

“What’s wrong with you, freak?” she asks, sliding her sunglasses down her nose. In high school, the freak would have bothered him. After years of being friends with MJ, and three semesters of rooming with her here at college, he knows better than to hear anything but affection in her voice. 

“What? I, uh, what makes you say something’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Does there look like something’s wrong? Maybe there’s something wrong with _you_ ,” he stutters, trying for casual and failing miserably.

MJ grunts, scooching closer so they’re pressed together, the reassuring heat of her thigh against his. Up close, he can smell the coconut oil on her skin, and that she has her period. Having enhanced senses is not always great. “Okay, bug boy. Open up,” she demands, and Peter bites his lip. He’s trapped, the professor at her desk as they work on identifying famous buildings. Peter’s been done for five minutes, MJ probably longer than that considering her major is architecture. 

“I met my soulmate,” he admits, watching her eyes light up. MJ tries to hide it, but she really does love her friends.

“Where’s the lucky…”

She stops, waiting for him to fill in. “Guy,” he tells her.

“Where’s the lucky guy? _Who’s_ the lucky guy?” 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Peter groans, burying his head in his arms. The surface of the table is cool against his nose as his thoughts heat up and jump around like popcorn.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” 

Peter cracks an eye open to examine MJ’s unimpressed face, then shuts it. “I met him while I was, you know…” 

“In your insect array?” MJ finishes. Peter nods. His head is starting to hurt.

“God, I’m so _stupid_. He was right there and I just _froze_.” 

MJ’s strong fingers close around the back of his neck, her hair tickling in long strands as she leans down to say, “You’ll find him, Peter. It’s meant to be.” She strokes her finger over his soulmark; on the nape of his neck, just below his hairline. He’s only ever seen them in a mirror. MJ’s own words are scrawled across her face, from right cheek to nose in small block letters. _Oh! So it’s you._ Like many people who have extremely visible soulmarks, MJ isn’t shy about hers, always introducing herself as, “Hi, I’m Mary Jane Watson, are you my soulmate?”

“What if I never see him again?” Peter asks, revealing the thing he’s been fearing since Red Spandex Guy left. A missed opportunity, a soulbond broken on one side. It happens sometimes, though it’s so rare as to be practically nonexistent. 

“You will.” MJ’s voice is absolutely confident, Peter smiling in spite of himself. “I know it.”  
+  
+  
+  
Two days later, Peter is in line at Starbucks, waiting for his shitty coffee to get through his shitty exams schedule. Four in one day, what is his _life?_ He should’ve listened to Aunt May and never double majored in Chem and Photography. 

“Peter!” His name finally called, Peter grabs a cup of over sugared iced caramel latte and weaves through the crowds of people. Caffeine doesn’t really affect him, not with how fast his metabolism runs, but it works alright as a placebo.

Finally making it outside, he squints against the early morning sun, deciding to risk walking back to class rather than taking a cab or webbing there. It’s too nice a day to spend money. Just as he turns his spider senses sing and he sidesteps, sending a man stumbling past him and to the ground with an audible crack, Peter wincing in horror.

He groans, going to help the guy up. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, hood pulled up over his face, gloves. Weird in weather this nice. His right wrist dangles loosely, obviously broken. Peter feels _terrible_.

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse, I can chop it off and it’ll grow right back, yellow’s barely even mad about it,” the guy with the broken wrist mutters, lifting his head. Peter stares into blue eyes and a face that reads devastation, scar layered over scar, the guy frowning and ducking away again. “Uh, sorry you had to see that, kid.” Peter knows that voice. He’s been hearing it in his dreams for the last three days, the low gravelly purr, the sardonic tone of it. How…he…what? How did this happen? 

Peter’s latte dangles loosely in his hand, forgotten, as Red Spandex Guy aka Broken Wrist Guy aka Soulmate goes to walk off. Peter’s hand reaches out and grabs his unbroken wrist without thinking, holding him still with ease. A normal person should probably not be able to hold back a guy this big. Peter’s not really thinking about being normal right now. 

Going with the first thought that pops into his head, Peter says, “You wouldn’t happen to wear red spandex on your days off, would you?” Soulmate stiffens, the muscles in his broad shoulders bulging, and turns back. They eye each other for a long moment before Soulmate grins, the scars around his mouth shifting, sweeps Peter up in a hug. He smells like gun oil, like sweaty costume. Peter couldn’t care less.

“Oh my God, you are _beautiful_. What’s your name, what’s your blood type, what’s your favorite position in bed? Probably Ascending Bear, you look pretty bendy. I’m Wade Wilson, I’m already in love, I know I’m ugly but I’m loyal,” he says all in a rush, Peter laughing without meaning to. He’s giddy, so overwhelmed with happiness that all he can do is clutch at Wade’s shoulders, feeling the strength of him. People are watching them with varying degrees of amusement, recognizing a soulmate meeting when they see one. 

“I’m Peter Parker,” Peter says as Wade squishes his cheeks together, kisses him right on the mouth. It’s wet and a little overbearing; Wade tastes like salsa. Peter would tangle his fingers in the hair on the back of Wade’s head, if there was any. As is, he just scratches gently at the scars clustered there, his chest bursting into fireworks.

“Lemme see your words, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Wade says, waggling what should be his eyebrows. He pulls his sleeve up to his forearm, exposing what is recognizable as Peter’s words even against scarred, gnarled skin. Obediently, Peter turns around to show the back of his neck, feeling Wade’s fingers trace the words seconds later. “But, I didn’t say those words to you. I said them…to…Spiderman…” Peter nods, heart racing. Wade is grabbing at him, spinning him, broken wrist apparently already healed. “ _No way_.” 

“Yep,” Peter says, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the pavement. There’s gum all over the ground. If Wade freaks out, Peter will probably melt down and join it. 

“But…if you’re a superhero, and I’m sort of a superhero, then who’s driving the train?” Wade jokes, taking Peter’s face between his hands. His touch is gentle, achingly so. “I chose red spandex cause of you. And to hide blood. Okay, mostly to hide blood. But you were part of it.”

“I thought you were just copying me,” Peter teases, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt, Wade pulling him closer. Peter sways into him, and finally they’re just standing there, hugging, dozens of people streaming by without notice. 

“I’m so relieved I found you,” Wade admits into Peter’s hair, his breath hot. For just a little while, Peter Parker has a perfect moment.  
+  
+  
+  
A couple hours later, with Wade asleep, head in Peter’s lap, Peter calls MJ. “I found him,” he says, grinning before he hangs up on her excited squeal. Right now, he has a soulmate to pay attention to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh and just as an addon, mj's soulmate is gwen stacy and she doesn't die lol cause this is a happy universe


	11. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, so this is almost definitely the last thing i'll write for this series. i'm a little sad, cause i've been working on this for so long and so many people liked it, but i think i've written all i want to. i'll always love clint and kate, though. hope any remaining fans enjoy (:

“Katie…”

She rolls over in the space in the back of their car, blinking at him through the thick curtain of her bangs. “We’re not making it in time, are we?” she sighs, flopping back on the mattress they’ve started keeping in the folded down seats. Owning an SUV has its perks, they’ve found. Clint shakes his head. Katie shrugs, touching the back of his neck with two fingers. “I don’t care.”

“Yeah?” he asks, soft and fond in the way he only is with her, keeping half an eye on the road. 

“Yeah,” she says firmly. “Long as we’re together, it’ll be fine.” 

“Just you and me, huh?” he murmurs, speeding up. 

“Just you and me,” she agrees, stretching languidly in the back seat. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” 

Lucky snuffles, raising his head, then letting it fall back on Kate’s hip with a disinterested doggy sigh. He probably just wants to run around in the cornfields outside, speeding by them at dozens of miles per hour. He has not enjoyed this little trip of theirs.  
Clint can’t keep the grin off his face, reassured, even after all this time, that they’re solid. Without Katie, he’d be a mess of shambling pieces trying to stay together.  
“I’ve got you,” Kate says, like she’s reading his mind. 

“I know, Katie. I’ve got you, too.” They smile at each other in the rearview mirror, satisfied. Long as they’re together, everything’s good.

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, this one will have 10 chapters before i create a new work thingy


End file.
